A Life in the Family
by My blue rose
Summary: Young Tim Drake, in addition to stalking Batman, has been visiting Robin's grave. One night he hears sounds from below. How will the Bat family handle a resurrected Robin? More importantly, how is Tim going to get himself out of this mess? AU
1. Prologue

**A/N: The ages are based on the comics, adjusting for reboots and general agelessness of comic book characters.** **Tim is 13, Jason is 15, and Dick is 19. Jason became Robin when he was 13, just after Bruce fired Dick and he ran away at 17.**

* * *

**Prologue: Rebirthing**

_I lie here paralytic__  
__Inside this soul__  
__Screaming for you 'til my throat is numb__  
__I wanna__break out__I need a way out__  
__I don't believe that it's gotta be this way__  
__The worst is the waiting__  
__In this womb I'm suffocating _

-Rebirthing by Skillet

Tim has been here every night since Jason was buried. The perfectly manicured grass is cold. It will probably be covered in frost by morning. Kneeling at the graveside with a hand on the granite gravestone, Tim shivers and it has nothing to do with the chill night breeze. It's been one month.

One month since Jason died

He has seen Bruce here twice, but it was day then. Tim wonders if Batman is afraid to come here when it's dark. But that's stupid. Batman isn't afraid of anything. But still… Bruce should be here. There should be flowers. The old ones are gone. It's not fair. But he can't risk Bruce knowing he was here, so he doesn't have any flowers to lay on the grave, either. Nothing to show that the second Robin is remembered.

That he is loved. It's not fair.

Tim stills, listening hard. He could swear he heard a faint cry for help in the distance. A... a scream. But Wayne Manor's grounds are deserted. Besides he can't help whoever it is. Tim knows he's a genius. He has taken a bunch of tests that prove it. But he's only thirteen. Only Robin was here. Or Batman. If only _Batman_was here. He hears a scream again, louder this time, but it's muffled. Almost like… A cold terror shoots down his spine as he realizes the screams aren't being carried by the wind but is instead is coming from underneath him. He bends down and put his ear to the ground, almost certain he's imagining things.

"Bruce!"

He almost runs. Almost. It would be the smart thing to do, but it's not what Robin would do. And Tim is always tried to do what Robin would do. So he starts digging, his fingers sinking into the soft earth and pulling it out in clumps.

"Help! Bruce!"

There is knocking, scraping, coming from below him and Tim realizes Jason is really down there, alive. Alive! And... trying to get out. Like a zombie. Oh god, he's going to suffocate! He tears at the earth but it's not fast enough. The fingernail on his middle finger rips off and he cries out in pain. He sits up looking around, hands still moving earth as fast as they can, and he spots the caretaker's shed not too far off. Shovel!

It takes longer than he thought to get to the shed, smash lock with a brick, grab a shovel, and get back. His heart is racing as he starts in on the grave again. His arms are burning and he's panting for breath but he knows Jason needs air more than he does. He has to keep going! Ten minutes later he has cleared a circle over two feet wide and four feet deep. He knows it is not nearly big enough for a coffin but he doesn't have the strength to make it any larger. The screams stopped Two minutes ago. He has to keep digging.

He _has _to.

Five minutes more and the shovel hits something the makes a dull thump. A surge of hope shoots into him. He redoubles his efforts, digging, clearing the soil, his arms and shoulders on fire, even as his feet sink with the dirt moving beneath him. A sudden tug of gravity, and Tim falls with the earth as the grave seems to open up beneath him, a pair of hands suddenly _there,_ issuing forth from the ground, caked in dirt. Tim struggles to get his footing on the loose earth, to not step on the collapsed coffin beneath him, and he grasps the hands, pulling.

"I've got you!" he yells, "Just hold on, I've got you."

It takes longer than he expected to remove the pieces of splintered coffin wood out of the way. The more pieces he removes the more the soil attempts to fill the hole back in again taking both of them with it. He can see Jason's face now, dark hair and pale skin, features obscured in the semi-darkness and covered in dirt.

"Bruce," he whimpers.

"He's not here," Tim says, helping Jason up, pulling him through the small hole he has made.

When they're both out of the grave Tim slumps down next to Jason on the grass, both of them gasping in the cool air. He can't take his eyes off the other boy. Jason's burial tuxedo is ripped and filthy, his face streaked with dirt. He looks... Completely fine. Like he did before he died. Before the Joker got to him.

Taking one of Jason's hands in his gently, he murmurs, "It's okay, everything is going to be just fine."

"Bruce..."

"Don't worry, I'll call him," Tim nods, his heart in his throat. Oh, that's gonna be a fun conversation.

Standing, he pulls Jason to his feet and slowly they make their way across the grounds. Tim sighs in relief when they reach the lit driveway near the house. Jason has been disturbingly silent the entire way. And that's when he sees the older boy's hands. The skin is cut open, his fingers swollen, broken nails torn and bloody. Jason had to claw his way out of his own coffin. Tim doesn't know he would have the strength to do that, if it had been him. They walk up the front steps; Jason lifts his head up, seeming more aware now that he was in more familiar surroundings. Tim takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. It seems like an eternity before the doors opened by an elderly butler.

"Hi Alfred," Jason mutters, smiling at the man. Alfred's face goes white.

"M-Master Jason?"

"Yes," Tim jumps in "I just helped dig him out."

He holds up his dirty hands as proof. The Butler looks as if he's going to say something but then he shakes his head and taking both boys by the shoulder, leads him into the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Those Nights**

_I remember when__  
__We used to laugh__  
__About nothing at all__  
__It was better than going mad__  
__From trying to solve all the problems we're going through__  
__Forget 'em all__  
__Cause on those nights we would stand and never fall__  
__Together we faced it all__  
__Remember when we'd__  
__Stay up late and we'd talk all night__  
__In a dark room lit by the TV light__  
__Through all the hard times in my life__  
__Those nights kept me alive_

-Those Nights by Skillet

The mug of hot chocolate feels warm his hands and tastes amazing. Tim can barely contain his excitement. Here he is, sitting on a stool in the kitchen of Wayne Manor, drinking hot chocolate while Mr. Pennyworth gives Jason a thorough medical exam. But not, Tim notes with amusement, before making both of them scrub as much dirt off of their face and arms as possible.

Jason had protested, saying that he could be a clone or robot and therefore should be examined as soon as possible. The Butler had replied that even if he _was_ a clone or robot he was to be expected to be as relatively clean as possible.

Unfortunately, Jason had enough dirt on him that even a good scrubbing in the sink with a washcloth only spread the dirt around more. The Butler, who insisted on being called Alfred, went to the other end of the kitchen saying that he needed to make a call.

Tim couldn't help but stare at Jason. He was wrapped in a thick blanket, his grave clothes having been summarily discarded, and red plaid boxers. He looked a bit ridiculous, with his face covered in dirty streaks and his dark hair plastered at odd angles with mud.

"What are _you_ looking at?"

"Nothing," Tim answered, hiding his smile by taking another sip of hot chocolate.

Alfred returned carrying a plate full of sliced fruit which he placed on the kitchen island.

"I was unable to reach Master Bruce, I'm afraid. It appears he is working late again tonight."

He paused, giving Jason a meaningful look which Tim interpreted as: don't mention anything to do with Batman. He almost spoke up to say already knew everything. But the cautious part of him, the part that allowed him to sneak onto Wayne Manor's grounds without getting caught, told and keep quiet.

"I did however take the liberty of contacting Master Richard. He said he would be here within the hour." Alfred said before leaving the room.

The yellow giant star that had been burning in Tim's chest since he helped dig Jason out of his grave went supernova. The first Robin was coming here! And within the hour! He checked his watch; it was twenty minutes to midnight. But wasn't Nightwing with the Titans? They were in San Francisco on the other side of the continent from the affluent outskirts of Gotham.

"Aren't you at least gonna have _some_?"

Tim started, having momentarily forgotten he was not alone.

"What?" Jason was looking at him like he was an idiot.

"Are. You. Going. To. Eat some?" he said slowly, gesturing at the fruit platter.

"Oh? Yeah, thank you."

He grabbed several banana pieces and munched on them while Jason shook his head at him.

Alfred returned again this time carrying a bucket full of soapy water, a scrub brush, a comb and a loofah. He then proceeded to remove Jason's blanket and ladle water onto his hair and assault the mud with a scrub brush. Tim started sniggering. He couldn't help it. Jason looked totally ridiculous, sputtering and trying unsuccessfully to shake the butler off.

"Shit! That hurts!"

Alfred hit Jason sharply on the head with the loofah.

"_Language_, Master Jason. Returning from the grave does not give you license for profanity."

"Yes Alfred. What are _you_ looking at?" he snapped at the silently laughing Tim.

"N-nothing," he replied, looking away as Alfred started to use the comb to remove the smaller pieces of dirt out of Jason's hair.

"I think he's a bit slow," Jason whispered Alfred, wincing as he combed through a knotted lock of hair.

"I am not!"

Jason looked unconvinced.

Alfred ran a comb through Jason's hair one last time, pronounced it as clean as it was going to be, then began drying his hair by vigorously rubbing it with a dish towel. When he was finished Jason hair was remarkably clean and dry, considering its previous state, but the drying had caused it to stick out all over. Tim couldn't help it this time, he burst out laughing.

"What's so funny," Jason spat.

"You. Your head looks like a dandelion."

"It does _not_."

"Actually, Master Jason, I am afraid it rather does." Alfred interrupted, now scrubbing the mud off of Jason's neck, back and arms with the loofah. Jason scowled petulantly and chucked and apple slice at Tim's head. Tim, who had taken karate since he was three, snatched it out of the air several inches from his face and popped it in his mouth. Jason looked impressed then winced as Alfred once again smacked him on the head with the loofah.

"Master Jason, please refrain yourself from fruit hurling. You are no longer an infant. Apologize to Master Drake, if you will."

"Tim."

"I'm sorry?" The Butler replied.

"Call me Tim. Master Drake sounds funny."

"As you please. Master Jason?"

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" From the way Alfred prompted, Tim could tell that they had had this sort of conversation before. Jason rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry I threw an apple slice at your head. Happy?" The question was directed Alfred, who gave a long-suffering sigh and looked at Tim.

"It's fine," Tim said, shrugging. "We're cool."

It was at that point that Richard Grayson, the first Robin, walked into the kitchen. He was wearing blue jeans and black tennis shoes with a Navy hoodie. His eyes immediately found Jason, whose skin was dripping wet and bright red from scrubbing.

"Jason?" Dick whispered, disbelieving.

He walked over and grabbed the boy shoulders and shook him a little, as if he couldn't believe he was real until he touched him. He opened and closed his mouth, apparently searching for something to say. When he found his voice he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Did you get electrocuted? What's wrong with your hair?"


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: All the chapter titles and quotes are songs by the Christian hardcore bands Red and Skillet, whom I typically listen to while I write this. They're all good songs, and the lyrics have to do with something in the chapter and are consistent with the main themes of this story: suffering, forgiveness and repentance.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Never Be the Same**

_I know you, who are you now?__  
__Look into my eyes if you can't remember.__  
__Do you remember, oh?__  
__I can see, I can still find__  
__You're the only voice my heart can recognize__  
__But I can't hear you now, yeah.__  
__I'll never be the same__  
__I'm caught inside the memories, the promises__  
__are yesterdays and I belong to you.__  
__I just can't walk away__  
__'cause after loving you__  
__I can never be the same. _

-Never Be the Same by Red

Jason scowled, and wrenched himself out of Dick's grasp on his shoulders. He slid off the stool and walked over to the kitchen door, still naked and wet from the waist up. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, dripping small puddles of water onto the floor. Tim watched Dick and Alfred exchange a glance that seemed full of equal parts worry and fear. Dick raised his hands in a placating way.

"I was just kidding," he said with forced cheer.

"You're the only little brother I've got. I'm glad to have you back." Jason gave what could only be described as a snarl.

"You're not my brother. You_never_were." Jason said with a look of contempt.

A look of hurt, and to Tim's surprise, guilt, flashed over Dick's face before settling into a smile that did not reach his eyes. He looked at Alfred who had not moved and was still standing by the stool with the loofah in his hand. The two of them seemed to have a silent conversation for several moments in which there were many subtle head gestures in Tim's and Jason's directions.

Apparently coming to some kind of agreement, Dick picked up a towel Alfred had brought out to help clean Jason off and Alfred began to put away the cleaning supplies while watching the boys with pursed lips. Dick walked slowly to Jason and proffered the towel. He didn't take it but scowled and looked at Dick with wary eyes. Dick sighed.

"I'm sorry, okay. I should have been a better brother, but I was seventeen-"

"I'm _fifteen_. And it's been two _years_." Jason interrupted. Dick winced.

"I'm sorry. I was… I was jealous."

"Jealous?" Jason mocked. "The Golden Boy, jealous?"

Jason then affected a deep, growling voice, clearly imitating someone. "You should be more like Dick, Jason. Dick never took the foolish risks you take, Jason. Dick learned how to do this in three days, Jason. That's all I ever hear from…" He glanced briefly at Tim before continuing. "That's all I ever hear from Bruce."

"I… I didn't know," Dick looked surprised. "After he fired me, and then let you be…" This time it was Dick who glanced at Tim. "He let you replace me, _like,_ a month after I'd left. I was so angry. And… and I was hurt." He finished quietly.

"That's not an excuse." Jason said, though he sounded less belligerent.

"I know it's not. I'm sorry for treating you the way I did. I never should have been such a… such a-"

"Such a _dick_?" Jason supplied smirking. Dick laughed.

"Yeah, I deserved that." He offered Jason the hand that was not holding a towel.

"Truce, little brother?" Jason nodded and shook Dick's hand.

"I've never had a brother before," he commented, almost to himself.

"Neither have I," Dick replied. "Guesses we'll have to figure it out for ourselves."

"Will you teach me how to drive the-" He broke off at a cough from Alfred who was now at the sink, smiling as he washed off the fruit platter.

"I mean, will you teach me how to drive Bruce's car?" Jason asked a mischievous glint in his eyes. Dick laughed and ruffled Jason's hair. He handed Jason the towel and the boy wrapped himself in it.

"Now, why don't we go… downstairs?" Dick asked lightly, his arm around Jason's shoulder. Tim frowned. They were on the first floor of the Manor. Maybe they were going to the basement? To get away from him so they could talk freely, probably. The phone rang.

"I'll get it, Alfred." Dick said. He picked up the phone.

"Bruce? Yes, this is Dick. Alfred called me over. Listen, something's come up and we really need you to come home. I- what? No I didn't know, but this is important…" He trailed off, frowning as he listened.

Tim looked at Jason who was still leaning against the wall near the door. He seemed more relaxed than he had all night. And since he was wrapped in a fuzzy blue towel with hedgehog spiked hair and a pensive look on his face that made him look younger than Tim. All he needed to do was start sucking his thumb and it would be a cute picture. Tim smiled at the thought. Jason caught him watching and glared at him.

"Yes, like I said, he's here. They're both here. I'll keep them here 'till you get back." Tim noticed Dick's face had gone white and that he was staring at him.

"No, I'll tell him. I know I don't have to be the one to tell him. I want to, alright. I've… I've been there. I'll see you soon." He hung up and returned the phone to its dock still looking at Tim, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"You're Tim Drake, right?" Tim nodded, a little surprised that he knew his name.

"Your parents are Jack and Janet Drake?" Dick was speaking softly and crouching slightly so he was at eye level with Tim.

"Tim, the Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum earlier today," Tim nodded again. He knew this. It was the way he had known it was safe to visit Jason's grave in the first place.

"He stole a cab. And. . . . And I'm so sorry, but your parents were in the cab. They're dead, Tim. The Joker murdered them."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Faceless**

_A voice screaming from within__  
__Begging just to feel again__  
__Can't find who I am without you near me__  
__I'd give anything to live__  
__'Cause without you I don't exist__  
__Your the only one who saves me from myself__  
__I abandoned this love and laid it to rest__  
__And now I'm one of the forgotten__  
__I'm not, I'm not myself__  
__Feel like I'm someone else__  
__Fallen and faceless__  
__So hollow, hollow inside__  
__A part of me is dead__  
__Need you to live again__  
__Can you replace this__  
__I'm hollow, hollow and faceless__  
__Shadow's growing in my mind__  
__Ones I just can't leave behind__  
__I'm not strong enough to pay this ransom__  
__One more monster crawled inside__  
__But I swear I saw it die__  
__Can you save me from the nothing I've become__  
__I been in this love and laid it to rest__  
__And now I'm one of the forgotten_

-Faceless by Red

"No," he whispered, but he couldn't continue, his throat was dry.

The kitchen was quiet. Tim thought Jason's gasp unnaturally loud and a moment later, when Alfred dropped the plate he had been cleaning into the sink, he jumped. Dick reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder, a compassionate look in his eyes. He flinched, and looked away.

"You're wrong. Mom and dad aren't coming back until tomorrow." _They _never_ come back early… _the thought was tinged with bitterness.

Dick said nothing, but looked at him with pity. Tim was suddenly angry. He smacked Dick's hand off his shoulder

"You've got the wrong people… please, I'll do anything," he whispered.

Alfred put the pieces of the broken plate into the garbage under the sink. Then he walked over to Jason, who was looking sorry and uncomfortable. He touched the boy's arm and led him out of the kitchen. Tim barely noticed. Everything felt so surreal. Here he was in Batman's kitchen, being comforted by Nightwing, while Robin, who had been dead up until a few hours ago, looked on; all because his parents had just been murdered.

He let out a hysterical laugh which turned into a sob and then another until he was weeping loudly, tears running down his cheeks, not even trying to keep quiet. Dick had pulled up a chair and, after a few moments, pulled Tim unresistingly into his lap where he rocked him back and forth like a baby.

In any other circumstance Tim would have been mortified to have his hero see him like this but as it was he couldn't care less and was only distantly aware of the man holding him. Sometime later, when his anguish and wracking sobs were replaced by sniffling and numbness, Alfred returned and set about making tea. He placed a cup in front of Tim.

"Drink up, Lad." He said kindly.

Tim blinked and tried to wipe off his wet face. He was still sitting in Dick's lap and the man was rubbing his hand in soothing circles on his back. Tim felt faintly embarrassed. More because he did not want to have to speak than because he was thirsty, he took a drink. The tea was surprisingly sweet. Draining the cup he looked up to find Dick and Alfred having a silent conversation. He wanted to ask what was going on but his eyes were heavy. He leaned his head on Dick's shoulder. He would close his eyes for a few minutes.

Dick waited until Tim's breathing had become deep and even before he started talking in a low voice.

"How much did you put in there, Alfred?" He gestured towards the teacup with his head.

"A good deal less than what you are thinking. The poor boy is simply tired."

"And Jason?"

"Asleep in the drawing room from a rather larger dose in his soda. I never could get him to appreciate a good cup of tea."

"So you think he's the real deal, then?"

"Do you?"

"I don't know, Alfred. With all the things we've seen…" He gave a wry smile. "Another one for the black casebook, either way."

"I took the liberty of taking a blood sample."

"Oh?"

"It's in the centrifuge as we speak. We'll have the results within the hour."

"You never did say what you think."

"I think it best to refrain from speculation at this time."

"Oh come on! Tell me what you think, please?" He gave his best puppy dog eyes that worked on everyone. Everyone but Alfred, that is.

"Not now. Why don't you tell me about the Titans? I have not heard from you in ages." There was a mild rebuke in his tone.

For the next hour, Dick found himself talking about his recent exploits with the Titans, his relationship with Kory and anything that didn't involve something to do with Bruce or Jason. He felt guilty. It was one thing to not want to have anything to do with Bruce but Alfred didn't deserve that. He should have made more of an effort to keep in contact with him. An email every few months did not count.

It was well after midnight when Bruce Wayne walked into the kitchen barefoot, wearing black slacks and a navy blue sweater. He looked at the boy cradled in Dick's arms and nodded in approval.

"Welcome home, Dick."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Older I Get**

_The walls between __  
You and I  
Always pushing us apart nothing left but scars fight after fight  
The space between  
Our calm and rage  
started growing shorter , disappearing slowly day after day  
I was sitting there waiting in my room for you  
You were waiting for me too  
And it makes me wonder  
The older I get  
Will I get over it  
It's been way too long for the times we missed  
I didn't know then it would hurt like this but I think  
The older I get  
Maybe I'll get over it  
It's been way too long for the times we missed  
I can't believe it still hurts like this  
The time between  
Those cutting words  
Built up our defenses never made no sense it just made me hurt  
Do you believe  
That time heals all wounds  
It started getting better but it's easy not to fight when I'm not with you _

-The Older I Get by Skillet

Dick bit his lip to prevent his first reaction, which was to lash out at Bruce. He had not spoken to his adopted father for two years and now here he was, acting like nothing had happened? But he wasn't seventeen anymore. He was no longer a sidekick to Batman; he was hero in his own right and a respected one at that.

"Bruce," he said evenly.

"How is he?" he gestured at the sleeping boy in Dick's arms.

"About how I was after… after that night." His parents had been murdered over ten years ago and it _still_ hurt to talk about. Bruce frowned and nodded understandingly.

"Sir, a sample of Master Jason's blood is in the cave. It should be ready for analysis."

"Come with me." It wasn't a question; it was a command. Dick mentally sighed, but as Bruce had taught him, a wise man picks his battles.

He stood up, holding Tim in his arms bridal style. The boy did not wake. He crept down the hall into a wood paneled sitting room. There was a small but warm fire in the hearth and Jason was asleep in front of it. He had apparently abandoned the couch and was curled up in a nest of blankets, snoring softly with his mouth open.

Dick's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter as he laid Tim gently on the couch. If he had only brought a camera! Jason looked so cute like that, younger too, more like Tim's age than his fifteen years. Though he had not cared much for the boy whom Bruce had chosen to replace him as Robin, Dick had been devastated to hear of his death. He picked up a blanket that Jason had kicked away and spread it over Tim. With one last look at the sleeping teens, he took a deep breath to fortify himself and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The air in the cave was cool and moist. The memory made him smile. He had spent many happy hours down here training or researching or just hanging with Bruce. Who, as it happened, was sitting before the computer, chin resting on his folded hands. Though Dick knew that he must know he was there, he gave a small cough to announce himself.

"It's a match. The blood sample is identical to the one he gave three months ago, barring some minor metabolic discrepancies." Bruce's tone was flat, like it always was when he recited data.

"He has his memories too. Have you seen him yet?"

"No. I didn't want to be influenced until I had… more impartial verification."

Dick snorted. That was so Bruce. Not only did the man not rely on emotions, he didn't trust them either.

"So he's really back, then?"

"I don't know. He's not a clone. That was the first thing I checked. But just because he's not a clone and his blood sample is a match doesn't necessarily mean he's our Jason. I'm sequencing his genome now but it won't be ready until tomorrow."

Bruce turned the chair around, his arms crossed and lips pressed tight. Now that Dick saw him up close, he could see dark circles under his eyes. Bruce was one of those subhuman people who only needed four to five hours of sleep every day, but he looked tired. He looked like he had lost weight too, and that was more concerning. Bruce was very carful about keeping his body in good shape and if he wasn't eating or sleeping…

Not for the first time, Dick felt guilty about not coming back. Last month when Alfred told him how Jason had died (and he was still furious that _Alfred_ had been the one to tell him) he had almost come home. Almost. But he hadn't because that would mean that Bruce had won. Dick had sworn to himself the night he left that he would not return until Bruce admitted he was wrong to fire him, and Jason dying was as definite proof of that as you could get. But Bruce hadn't called, not even though it was clear that he need Dick, if only for someone to be with while he grieved.

And that hurt more than anything.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Forgiven**

_Now I'm in our secret place__  
__Alone in your__embrace  
__Where all my wrongs have been erased__  
__You have forgiven__  
__All the promises and lies__  
__All the times I compromise__  
__All the times you were denied__  
__You have forgiven _

-Forgiven by Skillet

"What are you going to do?"

Bruce was silent for a monument then he swiveled his chair back around toward the computer.

"I've called Zatana. She'll be here at ten to take a look a Jason. She'll be able to tell us if there is anything magical going on. If she can't tell us what we need to know… I'll take him to the Watchtower."

"What about Tim?"

"Tim?" Dick could tell that Bruce had momentarily forgotten the orphaned boy, too preoccupied with Jason, no doubt.

"I told Commissioner Gordon he was staying here for the night." He typed on the keyboard and several screens came up on the computer, Bruce grunted.

"What is it?"

"Timothy Drake doesn't have any next of kin. Both his parents were single children and both sets of grandparents passed away several years ago."

"You mean he's going into foster care?" Dick said, horrified, his own experience coming back to him.

"I'll call CPS and tell them he can stay a few days. But he'll have to go into the system eventually. I'll do a background check on the foster family, make sure they're clean."

"They won't understand him." He whispered.

"No, but it's the best we can do."

"No, it isn't."

"What?"

"It's not the best we can do," he remembered the boy sobbing in his arms. "I'll adopt him."

"What are you talking about? Dick, you're nineteen years old. There is no way you can take care of a child five years younger than you." Bruce had turned to face him again, his expression an infuriating mix of sympathy and exasperation.

"I'm an adult!" He immediately wished he hadn't said that. It made him sound like a child.

"I know you are but think this through. You spend the majority of your time in costume with the Titans. Are you going to take Tim with you to San Francisco? Have him live at the Tower with you? Setting aside how dangerous that would be for him, what about you? Are you going to tell him about Nightwing?"

"I'll get an apartment. Tim doesn't need to know who I am yet."

"You'd be talking Tim away from his school and friends. What he needs most now is stability. You can't provide that by moving him to the other end of the country. This isn't your fault, Dick. It's not your job to fix it."

"No, it's not my fault. It's yours. How many people have the Joker killed? What Tim needs most now is justice!" he regretted this instantly.

Bruce's face went from shocked to guilty to stoic in a second.

"I see." He said evenly.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have said that." He took a breath. "But I do intend to adopt him. He needs someone who can understand what he's going through." _Like you once did for me. _He can tell Bruce understands what he doesn't say by the softness in his eyes.

"Dick, you are one of the most compassionate people I know." He shakes his head. "But when I adopted you, I was already established. My civilian identity allowed me to do things you can't, not at this time. And I had Alfred. But as far as the world is concerned, Richard Grayson is touring Europe with his younger brother Jason."

"He is? I mean, I am?" Dick hadn't heard this cover story before, though he knew that Bruce hadn't released to the public that Jason had died. Before, he had cynically thought that this was because that man couldn't come up with a good enough explanation for the wounds that Jason's body must have had. But now, he knew it was because Bruce couldn't bear to bury his son in front of the cameras.

"Yes, it will make Jason's… reappearance, easier to handle."

Dick snorted.

"I'll move back to Gotham. The Titians don't need me full time. I could even move into the Drake's house, that way, Tim wouldn't have to move to a strange place."

"Dick, you don't have to prove yourself to me. I'm proud of the man you've become."

"This isn't about you!" Though he couldn't stop the thrill of pleasure of hearing Bruce say he was proud of him.

"Isn't it? You want to prove to Tim you won't abandon him. That you can be a better father than I was."

"Okay, now you're projecting." For once he was glad of all the books on psychology Bruce had made him read. "

Bruce looked away, blinking rapidly. Swallowing his pride, Dick closed the gap between them and hugged his adopted father. After a surprised pause, strong arms hugged him back. Dick gave a little hum of pleasure. It had been too long. He had missed this.

"You were a great father, Bruce. If I can do half as well with Tim as you did with me, he'll be alright." Biting his lip he continued, speaking into the man's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I should have come back sooner. I should have been there for you when Jason died."

"I shouldn't have fired you." The words were said in a low whisper.

"What?" Had he heard that right?

"I shouldn't have fired you. I'm sorry." He repeated, louder.

Dick was at a loss for words. Bruce was allergic to saying he was wrong. He might apologize, but Dick could count on one hand the times he had admitted to being wrong.

"Why did you?" He found he wasn't angry, just curious.

"When you got shot, I realized again how dangerous what we do is. I was afraid I'd lose you." Bruce gave a short bitter laugh. "I ended up doing that anyway."

"I forgive you." Dick said simply and hugged him again.

"Thank you." Bruce muttered.

"Hey, you know we'll be neighbors when I move into the Drake's house. You'll have to come over for dinner sometime, Grandpa." He tried to joke.

"You are serious about adopting Tim?"

"Of course." He tamped down the anger that rose automatically at the question.

"If it's that important to you, I'll adopt him."

"Are you _serious_?"

"Of course," Bruce said wryly. "We could use some more boys around here."

"Thank you!" He stood up and back flipped, landing lightly on his toes. Bruce chuckled.

"I'm moving back in. I have two years of older brothering to make up for and now I'll have to do it twice as hard." He cartwheels then glanced at Bruce.

"That is, if you want me?" He hated how insecure he sounded.

"I'll _always_ want you. But have my adult son move back in with me? Will you be paying rent?" It's clear he's joking and Dick laughs.

"Yep! I'll pay you one hug a day to be renegotiated after one year."

"That sound like too much"

"Bruce, you can_ never_ have too many hugs!"


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Don't Wake Me**

_Don't wake me__  
__'Cause I don't wanna leave this dream__  
__Don't wake me__  
__'Cause I never seem to stay asleep enough__  
__When it's you I'm dreaming of__  
__I don't wanna wake up__  
__Don't wake me__  
__We're together just you and me__  
__Don't wake me__  
__'Cause we're happy like we used to be__  
__I know I've gotta let you go__  
__But I don't wanna be alone.__  
__These dreams of you keep on growing stronger__  
__It ain't a lot but it's all I have__  
__Nothing to do but keep sleeping longer__  
__Don't wanna stop cause I want you back _

-Don't Wake Me by Skillet

Dick decided to catch a few hours of sleep before Zatana arrived. He told Bruce that he should do the same but the man only grunted and told him to sleep well. Dick shook his head knowing he would not win this battle and went up the stairs emerging out from behind the grandfather clock that hid the main entrance to the cave. He stopped by the sitting room to check on Tim and Jason. He found Alfred in the room along with them, sitting in one of the winged armchairs drinking a cup of tea and reading a leather bound book.

"I'm heading to bed, Alfred. Will you wake me when Zantana arrives?" he asked quietly.

The elderly butler raised his eyebrows at the mention of the Justice League's magician but did not comment. "I will see that you are up in time. Your room is prepared for you."

It was Dick's turn to raise his eyebrows. Had been planning to go to sleep in one of the Manor's many guest rooms, but if his old room was ready it'd be rude not to use it.

"Thanks, Alfred."

His bedroom was on the second floor, down the hall from the master bedroom. It had been built in the days when the Master of the Manor's adult son and daughter-in-law was expected to live in the same house. As such, the room was huge with its own in suite bathroom. Dick remembered how overwhelming it had been when he'd first moved in after having lived his entire life in a small trailer with his parents.

The room was exactly as he'd left it. The white carpet and dark wooden bookshelves were free of dust, meaning that Alfred had still been cleaning in here regularly. The thought pained him. He really needed to make it up to the man. The walls were covered in posters. Hally's circus and the Flying Grayson's featured prominently. Above his blue and black plaid bed hung an autographed superman poster beside it in a glass case was the front page of the Gotham Gazette newspaper with a large photo of Batman and Robin.

He walked over to the large desk that held a computer, a microscope and chemistry equipment along with several photographs in glass frames. One was his parents wedding picture, another was a prom picture of Barbra Gordon. Dick smiled and picked up the frame closest to him. It was candid photo of him and Bruce taken by Alfred years ago.

In the picture Bruce was holding him tight to his chest with one arm and was tickling a laughing, ten year old Dick under his armpits. He and Bruce had been playing in the snow outside and the latter's hair was full of snow from a well thrown snowball. Bruce was getting revenge by tickling him and his young face was white with cold making his eyes seem bluer than normal.

He sighed, putting the frame back carefully. A part of him longed for the days when things between him and Bruce had been simple and easy. But another part was certain that he could no fall back into his old hero worship of his foster father. The man made mistakes, just like everyone else. That Bruce needed most (and by extension Batman) was for someone who wasn't afraid of him to stand up to him when needed. Someone who could be just as stubborn as he was and who would tell him he was full of crap. As he crawled beneath his bed sheets, Dick resolved that that someone would be him.

* * *

Tim dreamed. He was standing on a ledge of a high rise building the rain coming down so hard it stung his skin. He looked down and saw that he was impossibly high up; the ground was miles below him and covered with swirling gray fog. There was a building across from him with people standing on the rooftop. On the left stood his parents, their faces etched with worry. His mother was holding his father's hand and she was crying. His dad was taking to him in a carefully calm voice.

"Timmy, you need to jump, son. Don't worry, I'll catch you."

But his wasn't the only voice. To the right stood three people their costumes bright in the rain. Batman was there, grim and forbidding. His mouth was set in a thin line and his arms were crossed. Next to him was Robin who was smiling and gesturing for him to come over. Sitting on the edge of the roof with his legs dangling was Dick wearing his Nightwing domino mask. His voice was low but clear and reassuring.

"It's alright, Tim. The gap's not that big. You can make it, I promise."

"Don't be a chicken. Just do it, already!" Robin said.

"Jump boy," Batman ordered.

Tim jumped and felt his foot slip on the rain slick ledge. He saw the horror on his parent's faces, Dick shouting, Robin's mouth forming the word 'no' and Batman's white eye lens widen. He fell, the ground rushing up to meet him. Tim awoke, letting out a scream that was muffled by a pillow. He was lying face down on a couch in an unfamiliar room, covered by a blanket. He looked around in confusion to see Jason sitting on the ground, blinking at him sleepily.

Tim remembered. He parents were dead and he was all alone.


End file.
